


The Sun at Midnight

by asynje



Series: Even the Night [2]
Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Historical, Historical, M/M, Vikings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-18
Updated: 2010-05-18
Packaged: 2017-10-09 13:13:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/87874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asynje/pseuds/asynje
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The oldest know use of the word <i>jul</i> - Yule – is in the context, drinking yule. This does not mean that the word originally signified a drink, but rather that the time of jul was primarily concerned with and measured by the amounts of beer that was washed down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sun at Midnight

The wind is sharp as knives, cutting the skin. The sky is higher than in summer, distant and clear, and the clouds look like tender blossoms, too far away to touch. Sean has fetched water and is now sitting close to the fire, cold to the bone. His master has gone out and won't be home before long after nightfall. The dark night that comes in the middle of the day and turns everything into shadows and threats.

It is the darkest time of the year, and the village is busy celebrating. Viggo had brought Sean to the Chieftain's house yesterday but he had felt awkward and alone, huddling in as dark a corner as he could find. Inside darkness is good and safe, not like the darkness outside.

He had sat there looking at his master drinking with the other men. The Norse men _drak jul_ to make the sun feel welcome. Sean drank a few sips of spicy mead and ate a little of the roast pork and could have cried when Viggo fell asleep on the hay-strewn floor. He knew better than to crawl closer. And the night never seemed to end.

Sean fetches a skin from his master's bed and wraps himself in it. It smells of beast and sweat and Viggo and it feels so safe that he falls asleep right there on the floor.

He is woken when the door opens and the cold wind rips through the small house and makes the fire leap. His master looks cold and tired and when he sits down, Sean curls up around his feet as soon as they're out of the wet shoes. His master's cold hands find warmth beneath the skin that is still wrapped around his body and Sean pushes into them, forgetting that he should wait, stay still, forgetting that it isn't right. It has been so many days. No touches. No -

His master tugs on him and he is quick to get to his knees, to get the coarse fabric of the trousers out of the way, to nuzzle the almost hard flesh, to lick it, savouring the bitterness at the tip, the salt at the root.

The other slaves have shorn hair as it's easier that way. When Sean's hair had gotten long in the back his master had told him not to cut it.

"I need something to hold on to when I ride you, don't I?" he'd said.

Now he holds on to Sean's hair, keeping his head in place and it is hard to breathe but Sean doesn't want it to stop. He wants to go on looking at his master, looking at himself moving in and out of Sean. And when the seed spills across his tongue it is much too soon.

Sean wants nothing more than huddle close and keep his head where it is, drinking in the scent, but his master lies down beside him, pulling him up for a kiss. Then he makes him turn around and lets a hand trail down Sean's side and hips, ever so slowly, making Sean moan. A little needy sound.  
He can feel his master's smile against his shoulder and then the hand strokes him and his hips start to move. His master pulls away from him but his hand stays where it is and Sean can't make himself move away from it. And then he feels his master's other hand stroking his cleft, one finger pressing inside.  
His master leans closer and whispers in his ear, that some men are like women, that they even have a thing women have, a pleasure-place inside, and that he will find it for Sean and make him burn, like lava and fire, like the sun up high, like the world ending.  
And Sean feels the fire, on his cock, on his neck, where his master's breath moistens his skin, inside him, where the finger is moving, and then he gasps and twists and his master laughs and still he moves his hand and Sean cannot breathe, for the world is aflame and he is coming apart, like clay in too hot a fire.

His master is stroking his face with a sticky hand and Sean looks down for they are almost nose to nose and it is too close.  
"Did you enjoy that, my little mare?" his master asks, laughter in his voice, and Sean looks at him and nods before he moves in to kiss him, although he shouldn't. But his master merely pets his hair and says, that because Sean belongs to him, he must take care of him. Like he must feed his horse and keep his sword sharp. And Sean feels his heart hammer madly for is there higher praise than this, than being likened to steed and steel?  
And he bows his head and kisses his master's sticky palm over and over, whispering yes and yours.

Viggo falls asleep but Sean lies awake in the dark, pressing his face against his master's sweat-slicked chest. It is as if all the fire that was made on his skin and inside of him has gathered in his heart and he wishes that he could look at it. That his master could see it. At the chieftain's house his master had told the tale of the man who had escaped death because his _træl_ had pretended to be him. And how the man who had wished the other man dead had known that the wrong man had been killed because his heart had quivered in death. Had it been the heart of a free man it would have stayed still. Sean doesn't know if his heart would stay still, but if it was cut from his body in this very moment, he knows that it would glow. Like the setting sun behind the black trees.

He wants to give it to his master. Wants to hold his hands around this liquid gold and let it fall into his master's hands.

But how can you give anything to the one who already has all of you?

**Author's Note:**

> Original notes
> 
> Title: The Sun at Midnight  
> Series: Even the Nigh. [AU-Viking!verse](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=asynje&keyword=But+the+Night+Must+Fall-verse&filter=all).  
> Authot: [](http://asynje.livejournal.com/profile)[**asynje**](http://asynje.livejournal.com/)  
> Pairing: SB/VM  
> Beta: [](http://liars-dance.livejournal.com/profile)[**liars_dance**](http://liars-dance.livejournal.com/). All hail *S*  
> Disclaimer: All lies. Pretty, sparkly lies.  
> Feedback: here or to asynje AT skumring.dk  
> Notes: the oldest know use of the word _jul_ \- Yule – is in the context, drinking yule. This does not mean that the word originally signified a drink, but rather that the time of jul was primarily concerned with and measured by the amounts of beer that was washed down.


End file.
